


while we were waiting

by Hermia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermia/pseuds/Hermia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek hates standing around and doing nothing, and Stiles can barely think with all of Derek's pacing. So they find a way to pass the time. (Inspired by caps from 1x09 that show some rather saucy set inconsistencies between their Scenes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	while we were waiting

“You know, when you said you knew someone who could trace the message, I had this idea that it would happen sometime this century.”  


Derek was on edge, it'd only been half an hour, but that thirty minutes felt like an eternity when you were cooped up with a sixteen year old who put in an impressive amount of effort into annoying him. Or maybe he put no effort into it at all, maybe _that_ was the part that made his wolf's hackles raise every time they were forced into contact.  


He huffed, finally taking off his jacket when he heard the heater kick on. “We should be doing something.” 

“We are doing something,” Stiles said, tapping joylessly at the keys beneath his fingers. He barely registered that day's Google logo before typing in a search. “I'm doing research on economic imperialism, and you're busy being an ass.”

Derek appeared by his desk. “Cute,” he muttered through a clenched jaw. “None of that is going to mean anything when this alpha turns Beacon Hills into a blood bath, in case you were wondering.” 

“He's a werewolf, not a Horseman of the Apocalypse.” Rolling his eyes, Stiles twisted in his chair and grabbed for his backpack, unzipping it to remove a notebook and a pen. He didn't like people standing over his shoulder; it bugged him. He _really_ didn't like Derek standing over his shoulder, though. It wasn't uncomfortable so much as it was making his palms sweat. “I'm pretty sure one Alpha isn't going to wipe out the entire school system, and I'd really like to pass this year.”

“He's more than just another werewolf,” Derek insisted, unable to hide the indignant tone of his voice. “I could handle another werewolf without having to involve someone like you. This is an Alpha. An Alpha with a vendetta, an alpha who's form is more reminiscent of the type of creatures we _used_ to be. Not even the Argents know what they're getting into.”

There was so much there Stiles could comment on, but true to form, he only clung to a single thought. 

“Someone like me?” He snorted, though it wasn't an entirely amused sound. “Right. Someone like me. Who was dragged into this mess against his will and has almost been killed by his best friend more times than he can count. Someone like me.” 

He extended an arm towards the window. “You don't wanna wait here for Danny? Go. Go from whence you came.”

The werewolf paused as he began walking toward the center of the room, looking over his shoulder at the back of Stiles' head. “Yeah, someone like you. A human. A teenager with enough on his plate already. Someone who doesn't need to and _shouldn't be_ involved in this, any more than Scott should.”  


Again, Derek huffed, grinding his molars together, crossing the room quickly to sit on the chair he'd been residing in for most of his short time in Stiles' room. “Also? I'd _love_ to, but in case you forgot, I'm a wanted criminal because you two decided to pin _another_ murder on me.” 

“Correction: Scott decided to pin another murder on you,” was Stiles' short reply, though he couldn't be bothered to raise his voice above a frustrated murmur. “I'm kind of the brains of this operation. I know you didn't kill anybody.”

Derek grunted in acknowledgment, crossing his arms over his chest. He'd been careful to listen to Stiles' heartbeat whenever he spoke – he was a human and wasn't to be trusted – and while he was sure people who spent their lives hunting werewolves learned how to lie without physiological reactions, Stiles was definitely not one of them, and definitely not lying.  


At the moment.  


They lapsed into silence, uncomfortable and tense, Derek's hazel eyes practically boring holes into the back of Stiles' head. He counted breaths, words per minute on his keyboard, how his heartrate climbed more and more the longer he stared, a standard prey response.  


He was still trying to figure out if that was accurate, if Stiles was prey in the middle of predators. If he was, Derek wagered he was more akin to a hedgehog or a poison arrow frog or any number of wildlife that looked harmless but thrived nonetheless.  


It had only been a few short minutes before Derek was up on his feet again, pacing quietly at the foot of Stiles' bed, trying to focus his thoughts on on his own body rather than being entranced by the frustrating teenager's reactions and layers. 

“Do you want a book? A magazine, maybe?” An otherwise friendly offer was distorted by Stiles' deadpan as he spun his desk chair around to look up at Derek. He couldn't think with him in the room. His presence was stifling to say the very least. “ _Anything_ to keep you from pacing. I liked it better when you were staring at me like you'd go for the throat if I made any sudden movements.”

Said stare was still leveled in his direction, Derek's chin tilted downward and jaw twitching.  


“The full moon _just_ passed.” His voice was a harsh whisper to keep himself from yelling. The last thing he needed was the sheriff filling him full of shotgun shells. “The Alpha is _weak_. We. Need. To do. _Something._ He's _out there_ , waiting to hurt more people. I can't just _sit here_ , and neither can _you_ , unless you want to see Scott become a murdering monster, too!” 

“You _really_ need to chill out,” Stiles said, the volume of his voice spiking and then lowering again. It was hypocritical of him to say that to Derek due in large part to his own reaction, but he couldn't help himself. Pushing against the arms of his desk chair, he boosted himself up on his feet, placing him less than a foot away from Derek and eye level. “Considering teleportation hasn't been invented yet, we're stuck waiting for Danny to get here to track the text.”

Derek stepped even closer, chest rising and falling with deep, rapid breaths. He thought about Laura, about the bites on her bisected body. He thought about how distant they had been since the fire, no matter how much she took care of him. The fact that her murderer – one of their _own_ – was still out there infuriated him.  


But anger centered him, filled him with energy, and being this close to someone he was attracted (when did he accept that?) to was something he hadn't experienced in years. Derek needed to pass time, he needed to shut Stiles up. He needed to feel.  


Stiles cheeks were smooth under his palms as he closed the gap between them, connecting them at the mouth harshly, lips split to focus on the bottom swell. It was desperate and angry, but the fingers that twitched along Stiles' jaw were surprisingly gentle – he could get away easily if he wanted to. 

But Stiles didn't want to.

(When did _that_ happen?)

Stiles returned the kiss clumsily, sucking in a breath through his nose as he tilted his head to the side and pressed his tongue against Derek's upper lip. He withdrew it immediately, unsure of whether or not he should, but pressed into the kiss all the same, his fingers twisting in the fabric of Derek's shirt and guiding him even closer.

The kiss felt like it lasted longer than it actually did, and Stiles was stepping away in all of a moment. Not far, but away – inches instead of feet.

“Whoa. Wh... What the hell was that?”

Derek's hands dropped, thumbs settling against the muscle that connected his neck and shoulder. “A kiss,” he said without the slightest twitch, though his voice remained soft. 

Stiles arched a brow at him, his lips settling into a line. When he spoke, his voice was dull.

“No friggin' way.”

Derek actually smiled at that, though calling it such was an overstatement. The corner of his mouth curled, a hint of a dimple buried somewhere in his thick stubble.  


“You asked.” 

“It was more of a 'what the hell was that why are you kissing me you hate me also that was actually my first so thanks I guess?' But I appreciate you clearing that up for me.”

The werewolf let go of him then, brow furrowing as he took a couple steps back. “Your first? _Really?_ ” He seemed genuinely surprised, nose scrunching the tiniest bit in his confusion. “I kissed you _because_ I hate you-- no, I mean, I don't hate you. You're just the most frustrating person I've ever met in my entire life.”  


Derek sighed, rubbing his hand over his jaw and down his neck, the other resting on his hips. “I don't know? I wasn't really thinking about why I wanted it. I just wanted _you_ and it's been a long time since I've felt that way.”

“I really don't get you,” Stiles said on the heels of a sigh. But he was already walking forward, and before he could ask for a further explanation, his fingers were in Derek's hair and his mouth was on his, feet planted away and his body leaning awkwardly in his direction.

He didn't need to get him. The kiss was good. Great. Fantastic, actually, for such a short thing. And he wanted more of it.

So did Derek.  


Curling an arm around Stiles' back, he moved closer, straightening the teen's body into a more comfortable position, free hand going back to the side of Stiles' face. Derek's lips were out of practice and tinged with the desperation that came from someone who had spent six years of his life denying himself the intimacy he craved. It made kissing awkward at times, noses bumping and teeth clicking because of too much pressure, missing the mark or being too distracted to even move their lips at times.  


But that didn't change how good it felt, the spark that came from Stiles' eagerness, the heat that coiled in his stomach as he slid his tongue past the other boy's lips, sweeping it across the roof of his mouth with a soft noise of approval rumbling at the back of his throat. 

Derek's soft rumble of approval was met with a moan from Stiles' mouth, pressed into the kiss, muffled and swallowed up whole despite it's surprising volume.

Stiles' fingers twisted in the strands split between them, tugging Derek forward even as he arched his body closer, unable to keep from shifting any way that would make kissing him easier. Not that getting lost in the pressure and the taste and the sound of their lips smacking together was difficult. There was nothing trying about kissing Derek, even as the rational third of his brain begged him to stop and think about where this was going. Reminding him of Lydia. Telling him that tonguing the anti-hero was a Very Bad Idea.

Nothing was going to stop him.

Derek's own mind was behaving similarly. It was screaming at him about Kate, about how he didn't deserve to be this close to any one again, let alone Stiles.  


(He refused to think about why Stiles was so special, why out of the not-so-few people who had flirted and offered a kiss or a fuck were denied and the teenager who seemed to exist solely to piss him off was here in his arms.)  


But he, too, refused to stop, refused to let go, refused to give this up. Derek pressed Stiles' thin body to his more muscular frame, slipping a hand up his shirt. The heel of his soft palm guided his lower half closer still, and all it took was a slight shift of his own hips for him groan loud enough to break the kiss.  


Derek didn't lose his momentum, though. Instead of going back to his mouth (it was red and swollen and seemed like the most difficult decision anyone would ever make) he dipped down to his throat. Open-mouthed kisses left wet, pink marks in their wake as his lips traveled over pale skin, nails scraping along the base of his spine as a low growl left him. 

Stiles' hands dropped to the back of Derek's neck, the nails of one hand scraping lightly over the skin as he bit down on his bottom lip. Even that couldn't keep the quiet _hnn_ from leaving him. His body wasn't on fire. Nerves weren't exploding into flashes of light. He tingled. Goosebumps raised on his arms and he clutched harder onto Derek, his skin prickling and his heart racing. He wasn't burning up; it felt like his limbs were _waking_ up.

A shaking exhale of Derek's name and a pair of wobbly legs was what had Stiles drifting forward, resting even more of his weight against him as he tilted into the kiss. 

Finally, he came to his senses. Or, rather, he overcame the urge to pull Derek up and kiss him again by speaking. “I'm not really – really feeling this whole this happening while my dad's still downstairs.” His breath hitched when he felt Derek's lips move over his neck again. “Is he still here? He was supposed to be going out for something.”

Derek's lips stilled for a moment as he listened, working past the satisfying sound of Stiles' heartbeat until he heard footsteps in the kitchen accompanied by a metallic jingle.  


“Still here,” he murmured against his ear with a heavy voice, slipping his other hand up Stiles' shirt to stroke his hip with his thumb. “Just grabbed his keys.” 

Stiles' entire body shuddered when he felt Derek's thumb. “Give – give me, like, a minute. Until he's gone.”

They waited. So strung out on the feeling of Derek's body warm against his and his mouth brushing his throat, even Stiles could hear his dad downstairs. His heavy footsteps, retreating then returning then retreating again. When they heard the door open and then close, that was when Stiles lurched forward, knocking Derek back a step, fingers digging into his hair again only to pull him back up into another kiss.

Whatever startled noise Derek had started to make bled into a hum of appreciation. Stiles' lips were so impossibly soft, the thought of having them anywhere else on his body forced another growl out of him, this one more primal, coming from the pit of his stomach. His tongue glided in and out of the other boy's mouth, teasing along gums and swirling around Stiles' own.  


Derek's hands continued to move over Stiles' body, one sliding up over the side of his stomach, up until his thumb brushed a nipple then back down to his hip, and the other dragging nails up and down his spine until finally his palm met the teen's ass, fingertips digging in even through his baggy jeans. 

The brush of Derek's stubble against his face burned, but his mouth distracted. It was an incredible contradiction, one Stiles didn't mind in the least.

This had to be going somewhere. From the heat behind the kisses and the hand on his ass, Stiles knew this was going somewhere. And he knew he wanted to go to that place and badly. He just needed to be sure where it was. So he broke this time, his forehead pressed against Derek's as he hurriedly caught his breath.

“What are we doing?” he asked, his chest rising and falling noticeably with each breath. “And if you say 'kissing' again, _I'm_ leaving.”

Derek chuckled under his breath, a surprisingly warm sound for a man who had been nothing but gruff before now. “I don't know.” His eyes shut briefly as he shifted closer, hands moving to wrap around Stiles' waist, over his shirt. Their noses brushed together. “I _do_ know I could end up naked in your bed in about five seconds, though.” 

Stiles' lips parted, and he let out a breath that trembled on them, his eyes fluttering shut. His forehead pressed harder against Derek's, fingers twisting in his shirt again. 

It was no surprise that his only response to Derek's words was a quiet, “Holy shit.”

Derek repeated the words in his head, honestly as surprised by this as Stiles was. He'd only had sex with one person. One person he loved more than life itself. He remembered how easy it was to fall into bed with her, in love with her.

He wanted to believe this was desperation, sexual tension that was bound to boil over so why not get it out of the way... but he knew better.  


“Tell me what you want,” Derek murmured. “I'm not trying to pressure you. I just wanted you to know that I want it. I want you. On me, in me, however we choose.” He swallowed hard, sucking on his bottom lip and taking in a sharp breath through his nose, letting Stiles' scent wash over him. “Just say the word and I'll back off.” 

“So don't want you to back off,” Stiles said, his hands relaxing to smooth over Derek's shirt. “I just... _wow_ , moving kind of fast, are we? For you just doing this because I annoy the crap out of you, I mean.”

Derek jaw was tight, posture becoming slightly rigid as he spoke, pulling away without actually moving from the spot his was standing in. “I haven't been with anyone in six years, Stiles. Not just talking about sex, either.” Still, he nodded. “We're moving fast. It's up to you if it's too fast.” 

“Wait, so... this is more than just sex?” Stiles peered at him, his confusion written in the furrow of his brow and the barest tilt of his head. “You've gotta give me more than that. I'm kind of not picking up all that you're laying down.”

“Maybe?” Derek wasn't trying to tease. He sounded more confused than Stiles did.  


(Why was he still holding on to him?)  


“There's only been one other person,” the older of the two explained, turning his head away and angling his gaze to the floor. “What she did to me and what I did for her – I can't trust you.” Derek's eyes found Stiles'. “It's that simple.” When he paused, his brows furrowed. “Or... I thought it was.” 

Stiles watched his face as he spoke, finally taking in a sharp breath when he finished.

“You just made everything _so_ much more confusing, but... uh, yeah, I don't think it's too fast? Not that I have a lot to go on. I mean, this stuff happens all the time, right? Two guys who barely tolerate each other realize the want in each others' pants and they go for it? And it doesn't get awkward or uncomfortable and they still barely tolerate each other? Right?”

Derek could barely follow the rush of words that fell from the teen's lips; he stood there, quiet and pressed close as he sorted through what was said. However, when he didn't answer in the first few seconds, Stiles was opening his mouth, surely about to ramble off an even longer speech.  


So he kissed him in an attempt to stem the tide, slower than before, working his mouth with firm pressure and the occasional suck on either lip.  


“How about,” Derek murmured after he pulled back a moment later, irises flashing blue for half a second, “We just see where it goes.” 

“But—“ Stiles' brows flattened as Derek opened his mouth to interrupt another speech. “We've already surpassed the time limit allowed for a 'seat of the pants' fling. You realize that, right? We've actually _talked_ about it, so that's why I'm trying to... figure it out. Call it self-preservation.”

Derek sighed heavily, finally letting Stiles go and letting them both get some need room, rubbing the back of his neck.  


“I'd ask if anyone's ever told you you talk too much, but I know the answer.” 

Stiles' heart sunk when Derek stepped away, and it was that initial rush of _no come back_ that drew him forward. “No, no – I mean, yeah, they have, but—”

Then he was kissing him again after only barely missing getting his foot caught the strap of his backpack. His hands went to Derek's face instead of his hair, soft fingertips brushing up to his cheeks as his lips parted to focus on Derek's bottom lip.

This time, Derek's sigh was lighter, almost content.  


His lips closed around the upper swell of Stiles; mouth, lower jaw working forward to gentle scrape the tender flesh with his teeth. It was languid and drawn-out, pointed, noisy sucks and soft gasps for air filling the room. Derek's hands kept to Stiles' waist, not pushing him away but unwilling to let him come closer, too.  


The kiss was broken after a few moments.  


“I can't promise you anything,” he explained, still catching his breath. “I know what wanting to have sex with you means for me. That doesn't mean I can handle it.” Derek pressed his lips together for a second. “Us.” 

“I figured,” Stiles murmured, eyes still closed and close enough for his lips to move over Derek's mouth. “I mean, nothing about this situation screams 'going steady.' Maybe it'll convince you to be less of a dick to me or something. That's a noble enough cause for me.”

“Maybe I can at least teach you how to talk to someone you want to get in bed.” Derek's lips found Stiles' jaw as his hands slipped between them, unbuttoning the teen's pants but not unzipping them. “Chances are I'm _not_ going to be less of a dick to you if it gets your mouth on me.” 

Stiles pulled his bottom lip into his mouth. He could do this. He could. He knew he could. The incognito window on Google Chrome was overworked for a _reason_. 

The sound of another zipper sliding downward filled the room.

“Maybe you will if you like it.”

Derek's mouth was sealing over his in a hot second.  


It wasn't him trying to regain the upper hand, though. He didn't growl and tug and bite. Instead, moaned into the kiss as if his cock was already in Stiles' hand. Nothing short of the teen pulling away from him could stop him now.  


Derek broke the kiss with a gasp, but it wasn't to catch his breath. He pressed his forehead against Stiles' cheek, looking down between them as he loosened the teenager's pants until they dropped to the floor, revealing the modest tent of his boxers, heady scent of his arousal flooding Derek's nostrils.  


The older man spit on his palm, taking advantage of the excess saliva Stiles' smell had caused. Without a scrap of hesitance, he tugged open the hem of Stiles' underwear and slid is damp hand in, wrapping his fingers around the shaft, letting out a quiet moan. Tilting his chin up, Derek placed a kissed on the closest skin available – Stiles' cheek – and began to stroke him. 

Stiles' entire body shuddered at the feeling of Derek's large, rough hand around him, and his hips jerked forward only a moment later, a loud groan wracking him until he was forced to grip at Derek's arms to keep himself steady.

Letting go of both his grip on Derek and a whine through his nose, lips sealed into a line, Stiles pulled together whatever scraps of focus he had left – even though these were quickly fraying – and worked off Derek's belt, unbuckling it and slipping it out of its loops and dropping it on the floor. 

He didn't want to come too quickly, but the rush of heat filling him up as Derek's hand gripped tighter, moved faster, threatened to make him do just that. So he held his breath, moving away from the strong fingers wrapped around his dick and stared pointedly at Derek's jeans, chin tilted down almost against his chest. He had to get them off before Derek got _him_ off, and the window was quickly closing.

Gasping for a breath, Stiles twisted and buried his face in the curve of Derek's neck, his body lurching forward even as he tugged at his jeans. “Ohgod. _Oh, fuck,_ you're really – I'm – _shit_.”

“Just let me make you come,” Derek murmured, mouth pressing against the fuzz of the other boy's hair. He ran his hands up and down Stiles' sides as soothingly as he could, toeing off his own shoes before stepping out of his jeans, taut, grey boxer briefs clinging to his hips. “It'll be better for everyone, especially if you're going to be the one in me.” 

“Nnh, what? You... wait, really?” Stiles blinked, the words coming out of Derek's mouth dragging him out of his own haze of arousal. “Wow, I totally thought you were a top.”

Passing his tongue over his bottom lip, he pulled it in his mouth, his eyes falling shut again as his forehead bumped against Derek's shoulder. “But... I don't think I'm _ready._ Not to, uh, do that. To top you. I'd make an ass out of myself and I'd really rather not. Gotta make a good impression. Well, better than I already have.”

He chuckled under his breath, pushing at Stiles' shoulders to guide him back. “Having something in me isn't a new concept.”  


Derek worked off his shirt and socks, dropping them in the pile of his clothing and nudging them away with his foot. His fingers extended to curl around the hem of Stiles' boxers drawing him back against his body. “I still want you to come,” he said, lips brushing against the corner of his mouth. Within seconds, the underwear was around the teen's thighs, firm grip wrapped around his cock once more, picking up at the exact pace he had left off. “Otherwise that's all you're going to be thinking about.” 

A sharp, “ _Oh my god,”_ left Stiles as his fingers curled tightly around Derek's upper arms. The sensation was completely different from what he was accustomed to. His hands were soft; that's what happened when you kept physical work to a minimum and used too much lotion during your 'recreational activities.' But Derek's hands were rough. He assumed they were callused from years of running on all fours. And his grip was even tighter, working him so quickly he could barely move save for a steady jerk of his hips.

With every stroke, Stiles' murmurs picked up in speed. They remained quiet, soft and almost tremulous, but they started coming out faster and faster, breathier, more desperate. After a few minutes, his blunt nails were pressing harder against Derek's skin and muttered _oh god_ s and _yes_ es turned into gasps of air.

When he came, he came with a shout, his body lurching forward until he was pressed up against Derek's chest, his breaths coming out in strained whines and lips against Derek's throat.

The werewolf let out a low rumble at the feeling of Stiles' hot come in his hand. The scent was overwhelming, enough to make his cock twitch pitifully in his underwear.  


“Better,” Derek murmured with an imperceptible smirk as his hand slowly came to a stop, pinching his thumb and forefinger along the tip of his cock. Peering around the room, he eventually caught sight of a box of tissues on Stiles' dresser. He quickly cleaned off his hand, shifting on his feet until the teenager pointed to the waste bin by his desk. 

It was then that Stiles realized he didn't like standing around without Derek next to him. It was an odd feeling. He'd walked around his room half naked tons of times before. It was his _room_ ; he spent most weekends playing WoW in his underwear. But after that... standing there without Derek's body all pressed up against his, warmer than anything Stiles had ever felt – he felt awkward in the only place he'd ever felt free to really be himself, wholly and completely.

Only when Derek wandered back to him and he felt the weight of his hand did Stiles stop shifting his weight on his feet, fidgeting, removing his jeans and shoes and socks and underwear, and stood still, a tiny, almost imperceptible smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“So... yeah, this – I've got, like, _tons_ of lube, but I don't actually have condoms?” Stiles laughed under his breath, lifting a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “I mean, why would I need them, right? It's not like I have some super secret sex life even I don't know about. I don't think. And I doubt _you_ have any. Which makes this whole thing suddenly a lot more interesting.” He paused. “And by interesting, I mean problematic. Sort of.”

Derek lifted Stiles' shirt over his head, leaving the teen naked and himself still being stifled in his boxer briefs. “I can't get diseases as a werewolf, not that I've been exposed.” His lips were warm, teasing at the skin of Stiles' jaw as he walked him back until his legs hit the bed. “There's other things we could do if you don't trust that.” 

“Nah, I trust it,” Stiles murmured, eyes falling shut again. His lashes brushed over the apple of Derek's cheek. “I saw you projectile vomit blood and survive. Totally believe the disease thing.”

Pulling back, Derek tilted his chin down and looked at him with eyebrows high on his forehead. “ _Really_ , Stiles?” Sighing (when did that become _fond_ instead of _exasperated?_ ) he gave the teen a shove, climbing on top of him before the mattress had even stopped protesting at the sudden weight.  


“You're lucky you're too hot for that to ruin the mood.” One tug later and Stiles' head was up against his pillows, Derek's hands planted on either side. “Otherwise we'd probably end up killing each other.” 

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again immediately.

Instead of saying anything, he reached up and grabbed for Derek's waist, giving him just enough of a tug to pull him down on top of him, just enough of a tug to end up with their lips pushed together. Digging his head back into his pillows, he looked up at him. “You don't want me to talk?” he asked, unable to keep silent for long. “Shut me up, then.”

Derek smirked against his lips. “One of the _only_ times I'm going to want you to be as loud and as noisy as you can.” As he moved his mouth to Stiles' ear, he reached out to open the nightstand drawer, far too preoccupied by the slow roll of his hips to notice the cluck of multiple bottles. “Not that you'll have much of a choice.”  


That's when Derek began feeling around in the drawer.  


“Uh, Stiles?” The werewolf peered at the rainbow of bottles scattered throughout the storage space. “What was that about you not having a super secret sex life?” 

Stiles' head jerked in the direction of the drawer, and everything fell into place. Embarrassingly enough.

“Oh.” He narrowed his eyes and worked his bottom lip into his mouth. “That's... well, I like trying new things? And sometimes Scott gives me the ones he doesn't like – oh my god, don't look at me like that; he's my best friend – and that's how that happened. I mean, wow, okay, I jerk off a lot. It's a thing I do. Don't get all judge-y on me.”

“Not judging.” Derek's lips pressed together tightly, but even that didn't hide the dimples in his cheeks. “Is there a favorite I should know about?” 

Stiles reached over, his hand joining Derek's in the drawer. While he felt around for the most familiar bottle, his fingers brushed against Derek's and he lingered for a moment too long, index finger pressed up against his palm, before moving on. Finally, though, he found what he was looking for. The bottle was pale blue and nearly empty. He handed it to Derek.

“I like this one.”

Making a noise of acknowledgment, Derek guided Stiles to sit up, kissing him all the while, until his shoulders and most of his back were pressed against the pillows as well. He lingered there for a moment, coaxing Stiles' mouth open to accept his tongue and gliding it along his palate, savoring the taste.  


Derek got off the bed briefly, removing his underwear, then settling himself between Stiles' thighs, chest pressed against his still-soft cock. The werewolf took his time kissing down Stiles' body, lips meeting moles and freckles eagerly, enjoying the hitches of breath and the squirming he was able to get out of the teen.  


But he knew they didn't have as much time as he wanted.  


(When this started he wanted nothing more than a quickie, hadn't he?)  


Because of that, it took only a minute or two for his cheek to end up resting on Stiles' thigh, thick stubble scratching at tender skin as Derek shook the bottle, squeezing a healthy amount onto his index and middle digits and smearing some over Stiles' asshole as well.  


His first goal had to be relaxing him, and so Derek rolled the pad of hims thumb over the tight ring of muscle, massaging as much tension as he could out. It was a slow, gentle process that drew the quietest noises from Stiles' pink mouth.  


It wasn't until he moaned a desperate _please_ that Derek finally slid his index finger into him in one drawn-out push, only stopping when his very last knuckle met Stiles' ass.  


Derek pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the soft curve of Stiles' thigh as he curled his finger upward and began to pump it in and out. 

The sensation was unlike anything Stiles had ever felt. He'd never actually experimented before, though he had been curious enough to watch his fair share of gay porn. It felt... odd, getting himself off like that, so he continued on like he had for years. But this – this wasn't painful like he'd expected. There was slight discomfort at first, but it was never unpleasant. There was no pulling or tugging, just a gentle pressure as he stretched around Derek's thick finger and an intense pleasure the moment he curled it inwards.

“ _Oh_.” Sucking and biting down on his bottom lip, Stiles shifted beneath Derek's attention, the muscles in his stomach twitching, same as his cock. He could feel the blood rushing, the brush of Derek's lips, his body's unsurprising plea for _more_.

It was a plea he voiced only a second later, strained as he squirmed and rocked his hips back. “More. Or – or faster. Just _something_. Ohgod.”

Derek let out a muffled moan in the crease of Stiles' thigh, already adding his slick middle finger into the mix.  


He was careful as Stiles acclimated. Two of his fingers were wider than his cock, so the fact he seemed to be taking it well was encouraging, but Derek had no desire for Stiles to be uncomfortable, at least here and now while they were sharing this.  


As Stiles relaxed and loosened, Derek picked up his speed, able to focus more on pleasuring him than simply ensuring he was prepared. So he found the firm bundle of nerves that made the boy under him buck and moan and wiggled his fingers there, scissoring them back and forth against it. And while Stiles was busy looking up at the ceiling as if that would save him, Derek dragged his tongue along the underside of his hardening cock. 

Stiles hoped the ragged _fuck_ that left him would earn him some reprieve from Derek's far-too-skilled fingers, but that hope was crushed when he felt lips close around the head of his cock. “Derek,” he said, trying in vain not to moan around the syllables of his name as he pressed his hand against his shoulder. “S'enough. Just – just get in me. I'm r—” He gasped, clawing at the comforter with his other hand. “Re- _eady_. Shit, shit. _Nn_.”

Derek didn't tease. He didn't smirk, he didn't make Stiles beg. His cock was too hard, throbbing between his stomach and the mattress to even consider prolonging this more than he had. Stiles said he was ready, that was enough.  


Gripping onto Stiles' hips, he pulled him down, fully onto his back. Derek sat up on his knees, draping the teen's legs over his thighs, taking a moment to look at him. Dozens of freckles littered his body, lessening around the hair that grew on his abdomen. His pale skin was pink where it wasn't bright red. He was gorgeous and sexy and it wasn't until Stiles whined his name again that he realized he had zoned out.  


Shaking his head, he grabbed the bottle of lube again, using the last bits to cover his cock and relubricate his asshole. Dropping it to the floor, Derek planted his now free hand beside Stiles' head, grabbing hold of his own cock, steadying it as he pushed inward.  


Stiles was tight, but the time he spent preparing him had done its job. With the right amount of constant pressure (and the placement of a strong hand on Stiles' hip to keep him from forcing the issue) Derek soon found himself fully sheathed and falling down from his hand to his elbow, head bowed to Stiles' neck as he shuddered, hips rocking forward out of instinct when he wrapped his arms around him.  


“ _Stiles_ ,” he moaned, fingers curling around the nape of the teen's neck. His voice was soft, almost airy. “Hnn, _God_.” 

At the sound of his name like _that_ on Derek's lips, Stiles gasped and gripped harder on his shoulders, his hips rocking helplessly until he was forced to stop. The friction of their two bodies pressed together was too much, so he slowed. He slowed and he sucked on his bottom lip, fingers relaxing their grip and his arms shifting up to wrap around his neck instead.

“Fuck, that feels—oh my _g_ — _so good_.”

Letting out a low-pitched whine, Stiles' thighs pressed inward, legs wrapping tighter around Derek's hips, his heels dangling down until they pressed against the backs of Derek's warm thighs. The leverage only added a certain something to Derek's slow thrusts – a certain something that had him all but writhing beneath him.

The movement made things a challenge. Derek couldn't get a good tempo with Stiles' hips shifting every which way. So he pressed down with his hips, harder and harder until Stiles' cock was trapped between their stomachs and he could do little more than try to tilt his hips up, letting out a petulant whine.  


“Move _with_ me.” Derek's voice poured into Stiles' flushed ear. He rocked his hips forward; Stiles' jerked up in response. “Like _that_ ,” he moaned, lessening the pressure and beginning to thrust in and out again, faster now, fingers twitching in Stiles' messy sheets as well as the back of his neck.  


They weren't completely in sync, but the increase in pace, the roll of Stiles' hips and the searing coil in Derek's stomach that was tightening more and more which each stroke brought words to his lips rather than rumbles and groans.  


“Oh, _fuck,”_ Derek gasped, his bottom lip catching on Stiles' cheek. “ _There_ , mnn. Just-- oh, _just like that_.” 

Stiles was _trying_. Keeping pace with Derek when he could barely think straight was difficult, but with his body pressed down on him, guiding him, it was easier. Easier enough to let him breathe, to loosen the fold of his arms around the back of his neck and slide his hands down to grip at his shoulders instead. “ _Ohh_. Ohgod. Go a little – go a little faster.”

  
He arched up just enough to lift his shoulders off of the mattress, the crown of his head still pressed into his pillows and the arch of his neck bared. Searching for something to say, something to help as his body was being less than helpful on its own, Stiles searched the hazy corners of his head. Searched and searched until he found something tucked away, something Derek had said only a few minutes ago, though it felt like much longer.

“G – _god_ , Ijustwannamakeyoucome.”

Derek growled, the noise rumbling deep in his chest and continuing to linger on each heavy exhale of breath. He dug his knees into the mattress, adding power to his thrusts, pushing Stiles farther up the bed every time their hips met as he attempted to get deeper, to reach somewhere he hadn't already.  


He didn't stop, even when his muscles were burning, chest aching for more oxygen – Derek was completely lost in Stiles. In the way he bared his neck to him, in his noises, his words, in the pounding of his heart, in his scent – soap and vanilla and the musk of arousal and something beneath it all that belonged only to him.  


Everything about Stiles set him on edge. He was only just now realized that might be something to cherish.  


(Cherish?)  


Derek's body didn't give him time to linger on the thought. A few more strokes and the sensation of Stiles arching up against him forced a long, surprisingly soft moan of his name, spilling his release inside of him.  


A whimper escaped him as he continued rolling his hips, buried his face in the hot curve of Stiles' neck and nuzzling his nose against the skin. 

“Ohh... my... _god,_ Derek. Holy shit _.”_

Stiles' voice was barely above a hoarse whisper. 

Staring up at the ceiling, his hand moved up to rest on the back of Derek's neck, fingers drumming there lazily. He'd just lost his virginity. To Derek Hale. In his bed. 

His virginity.

To Derek Hale.

Letting out a shuddering breath, his entire body went slack and his eyes fell closed, a wrinkle forming between his brows when he realized his bottom half was still clinging onto Derek's hips. But the idea of letting go _already_ was what felt odd, not the idea of letting go in general.

“That was... wow.”

“Mm,” was all Derek could manage, seemingly more focused on kissing Stiles' neck than talking, swirling his tongue around a section of flesh before sucking it into his mouth. 

Chuckling under his breath, Stiles pawed at Derek's shoulders to guide him back. “Whoaaa... not right now, alright? Danny'll be here soon, and now my bedroom smells like _sex_. Which – yeah, there's some Febreeze downstairs with my name on it.”

Derek's brows twitched inward briefly, but he nodded, propping himself back up on his hand to use the other to help remove his cock. When he rose to his knees, sitting back on his heels, he brushed his hand over Stiles' hip.  


“Don't feel too sore?” 

Stiles pulled himself up into a seated position, bringing himself up close to Derek again in the process. “Nah, I don't think so...? You didn't hurt me or anything. It feels... different, but not necessarily bad different, you know?” Sliding his legs over the side of the bed, he rubbed his hands over his buzzcut before standing, hurrying to the pile of clothes at the end of his bed.

Stepping into his underwear felt different. Pulling them up and smoothing them out felt different. 

But not _bad_ different, like he'd said.

“So... I'm gonna go downstairs,” Stiles told him after tugging his shirt back on over his head. “Maybe fix the comforter a little while I'm down there? You don't have to, but time management and stuff.” 

Without waiting for Derek's answer, he turned and left, jeans forgotten in a pile with Derek's things.

Derek watched him disappear (partially because his shirt was caught on the hem of his boxers), still sitting on the edge of the bed.  


He was an idiot. That's what he learned today. He was complete and total dumbass who thought that maybe a fuck would destroy all these feelings he was having lately. No, Stiles wasn't on his mind all the time. His heart didn't skip a beat when he saw him. But there was _something_.  


Despite Kate, Derek was still the sort of werewolf that only went to bed with someone his wolf wanted as a mate and who challenged his human side almost constantly.  


Huffing, he pulled on his underwear and jeans, zipping them up, looking briefly at the bed before simply deciding to ignore the mess. He wanted to straighten it up, to try and erase what happened, but at the same time, he didn't want to let on that he'd do what Stiles wanted.  


If he ignored this, if he kept pushing Stiles away, maybe they could get past this. Because the last thing Derek needed was to fall in love with another human. It was a waste of time, he'd get hurt, possibly have the last remnants of humanity burned out of him.  


A smile crossed his lips as he tugged his bloodstained shirt over his head, staring at the tangle of sheets, but it was short-lived.  


 _If he doesn't hurt me, I'll hurt him,_ Derek thought, jaw tensing as he heard Stiles' footsteps start up the stairs.  


 _I have to keep him away._


End file.
